Staying with the voices

Our sixth support group meeting was one of the most emotionally demanding conversations we have shared so far. It was a meeting about grief, loneliness, voices, and the frightening experiences that can accompany psychosis. Yet, by the end of our time together, what remained with me was not fear. It was the quiet courage each person showed in staying with experiences that are often impossible to speak about. One participant joined us for the first time. After introducing themselves, they quietly left the meeting. We never discovered why. Perhaps it felt overwhelming. Perhaps the moment did not yet feel safe. Whatever the reason, their brief presence reminded me how much courage it takes simply to enter a room where schizophrenia can be spoken about openly. Much of our conversation centred on relationships and loss. One member shared the heartbreak of watching their daughter go through a painful separation. As a parent, they found themselves carrying not only their daughter's grief but also their own memories of a time when love, longing, and psychosis became intertwined. They spoke about a past relationship that gradually became filled with hopes of being made whole by another person. Looking back, they recognised these experiences as part of their psychosis. Yet beneath the delusions lay something profoundly human—the longing to belong, to be loved, and to feel complete. Loss has a way of reopening old wounds. Sometimes grief reminds us not only of what has ended, but of everything we have ever feared losing. Another participant reflected on how difficult it had been to return to creativity after psychosis. Reading, writing, and artistic expression no longer came as naturally as they once had. Someone else described how photography, once a source of joy, had gradually disappeared from their life. Everyday conversations had become difficult, leaving them increasingly isolated from the world around them. We also spoke openly about hearing voices. Not as abstract symptoms, but as lived experiences. Several people described voices that were harsh, critical, threatening, or deeply abusive. They spoke about how exhausting it can be to carry these experiences while trying to continue with ordinary life. One participant described feeling overwhelmed by frightening thoughts while travelling in a car. Instead of trying to force them away, they spoke about gradually allowing the fear to move through them without fighting it. It was not an easy process, nor did it make the thoughts disappear. But over time, they discovered that they could survive the experience without becoming consumed by it. That conversation stayed with me. I found myself wondering whether healing always requires us to eliminate our difficult experiences—or whether sometimes it begins by changing our relationship to them. I shared some of my own experiences of living with abusive voices connected to painful memories from childhood. Rather than asking how to silence them, I found myself asking a different question: Can we make space for these voices? Not because they are welcome. Not because they are pleasant. But because fighting them endlessly can become another form of suffering. Perhaps, slowly, we can learn to listen with curiosity rather than terror, allowing ourselves to understand what they may be expressing about our lives. Towards the end of the meeting, we also reflected on something that many people living with schizophrenia quietly carry. Medication often reduces hallucinations and delusions, bringing safety and stability. At the same time, some people experience a painful sense of emotional dullness, as though parts of their creativity, desire, or vitality have become more difficult to reach. This is rarely spoken about, yet it shapes many people's everyday lives. There are no easy answers. Only the ongoing work of finding balance between protection and aliveness. As we closed the meeting, something had shifted. One participant said they felt relieved. Another shared that they had never imagined they could speak so openly about these experiences and feel so safe while doing so. I felt the same. For me, this meeting was not about conquering voices or finding perfect solutions. It was about discovering that even our most frightening experiences can be spoken aloud without judgement. Perhaps healing does not always arrive when the voices disappear. Sometimes it begins when we no longer have to face them alone.

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